


Now, of course, I see something very beautiful in those days, which were such torture then.

by MiserableLie95



Category: Morrissey (Musician), The Smiths
Genre: Anal Sex, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 06:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10848834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiserableLie95/pseuds/MiserableLie95
Summary: Make-up sex during the recording of The Queen Is Dead.





	Now, of course, I see something very beautiful in those days, which were such torture then.

Morrissey got dressed to go down to the studio early, not long after the sky had lightened as much as it could manage in the midst of an English winter. He stopped on the staircase to gaze at the gray sky through the bay window, thinking of retrieving his notebook and quickly heading back to his room for a pot of tea and a book to pass the quiet, cold morning. 

The door to the studio was unlocked, and Morrissey didn’t bother to turn on the light as he headed towards the lounge, where he had left his notebook the day before. The counter that he thought he had left it on was empty, so he turned towards the couch, only to find Johnny curled up on it, asleep. Morrissey looked down at his watch as he moved towards the guitarist. There was an empty vodka bottle within arms length from where he slept, and he was restless even in sleep, one of his arms thrown over his face. Morrissey leaned down and put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder, gently shaking him awake. 

Johnny opened one brown eye, bleary and red-rimmed, then closed it again. He stretched out his legs and rubbed his eyes, avoiding Morrissey’s concerned gaze.

“What are you still doing here?” Morrissey asked. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked on worriedly as Johnny struggled to sit up. 

“Oh…Just dozed off," Johnny mumbled, attempting to gather his bearings. He felt Morrissey’s hands steadying him until he could sit up, feeling weak. He was still as drunk as he had been when he finally collapsed onto the couch a few hours earlier.

“Johnny, it’s 7am. What are you doing here by yourself?” Morrissey picked up the vodka bottle from the ground, shaking it slightly. “Did you drink all of this?” Morrissey asked. 

Johnny closed his eyes at the accusative tone of voice coming from his best friend, and shrugged his shoulders. “No. It's not even mine... There’s a lot for me to do. I’m just tired,” Johnny said softly. Tired was an understatement. He was exhausted, overworked, love-sick and confused, abusing substances, under tremendous pressure, and feeling completely overwhelmed by all that was expected of him by everyone he knew. He let his hands fall into his lap limply, and tried to keep his voice from wobbling with emotion. 

“Is anyone else up?” He tried to ask nonchalantly, but failed. He knew no one else would be awake, he was the one working hardest for all the songs to come together, for all the parts to be perfect, for the band to be running smoothly. He felt hot tears stinging and put his fists to his eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to compose himself.

Morrissey frowned, stepping closer to Johnny and putting a hand on the nape of his neck reassuringly. “You need a meal and a good sleep," Morrissey said gently. He ran his fingers through Johnny’s hair, a gesture both familiar and comforting. “Let me bring some breakfast up to your room." 

Johnny straightened up and looked at Morrissey, speaking quickly as the older man’s face took on a look of distress at Johnny’s tearfulness. “I don’t want to be alone, Morrissey. I don't want be right now. I- I just can’t… Can I come back to your room?” 

“Of course," Morrissey said, helping Johnny up from the couch. His hands stayed on Johnny’s coat longer than he had to hold on, looking at the guitarist closely. He was paler than usual, dark circles under watery eyes, and vodka on his breath. He was hardly in a state to be standing, let alone working on the record all night on his own. 

“Are you alright, Johnny?” Morrissey asked, his hands moving to hold the guitarist’s face. 

Johnny closed his eyes at the closeness of their bodies, trying to keep it together. His relationship with Morrissey had become increasingly complicated and painful in recent months, so far in now that they were past the point of being able to stop. Angie was pushing for marriage, and Morrissey was attempting to distance himself out of respect for the two of them. That was before they knew that they had gone too far to turn back. The distancing had led to self-destructive tendencies from both of them; with Morrissey going out to dodgy clubs to find someone, or staying home and completely shutting himself in, as he was so prone to doing before The Smiths had began. Depression had taken hold of both of them, alcohol and prescription pill consumption was at a premium to get through the days. It was the reason behind the dark tones of the record, darker than anything they had written before; both lyrically and musically. It was not a mystery where it was all coming from. 

“No," Johnny finally answered. His voice was hard, his eyes pointed downwards at their shoes. 

Morrissey couldn’t tell what the younger man wanted. He had tried to do everything he could to keep his distance from Johnny when distance seemed necessary, in order to keep things from getting too messy with Johnny’s engagement to Angie. Johnny had admitted that he felt backed into a corner about the entire ordeal with his childhood sweetheart, and Morrissey had kept his mouth shut, nodding idly as Johnny moved away from him in recent months. It was painful. It was lonely. After several unsuccessful attempts, Morrissey was keenly aware that it would be impossible to move on. He was too deeply in love. After a series of late nights and early mornings and meetings away from everything else- Johnny admitted that he could not bear to be away from Morrissey anymore. It was a relationship that was more complicated and full of quiet understanding than anything either had imagined possible. 

And it hurt, it hurt beyond belief now- for Morrissey see Johnny destroying himself in trying to accomplish everything on his plate. He felt an incredible guilt for ever crossing the line between friends and lovers, but it was something that couldn’t have been stopped. It was that powerful, so seemingly simple in the beginning. And now it was intertwined beyond anything either had expected. It was the way things had gone. It couldn’t really come as a shock to either of them that it would get heavier and more heartbreaking as time passed, but it was still unbelievably painful to not be able to do anything to help Johnny, knowing that he was part of the problem, and that it would only get worse, until there was nothing left. 

“I’m sorry," Morrissey said in a choked voice. He tried to swallow back the lump in his throat, push away the painful thoughts of their impending doom, but it was a difficult thing to do. Johnny nodded, unable to speak, watching Morrissey’s eyes fill up with tears. Morrissey wrapped his arms around Johnny’s shoulders, tucking him under his arm. Johnny rested his forehead on Morrissey’s shoulder and sighed, feeling Morrissey’s hands rubbing his back reassuringly. 

“Can we go upstairs?” Johnny asked in a small voice. He felt unstable on his feet. He didn’t want to be in the studio anymore.

Morrissey dropped his arms from around the guitarist and nodded stiffly, retrieving his notebook from the couch, where it had been wedged underneath Johnny while he slept. Morrissey wondered briefly whether Johnny had read it, and if perhaps the contents had been the reason why he felt the need to drain a bottle of vodka. Johnny managed to look half-ashamed as he saw Morrissey tuck the notebook underneath his arm before he returned to help Johnny out of the room. There was nothing he could do about it now. Johnny had to be helped up the stairs, his feet unable to complete the tasks his brain was sending. 

Morrissey wrapped an arm around Johnny’s waist and held the slighter man close to him, one of Johnny’s arms slung over his shoulder and the other tightly gripping the banister, trying to keep everything from spinning, reveling in the feeling of Morrissey’s strong arms half-carrying him, the smell of his cologne, the warmth from his body. It was impossible that he had ever thought of trying to stay away from the singer. He never could. 

“Almost there," Morrissey breathed into his ear after they had reached the top of the stairs, sending a chill along Johnny’s spine.

Johnny clung more tightly to him, pressing his face against the fabric of his jacket as Morrissey opened the door to his room. Morrissey shut it behind him gently, and then was forced against it by Johnny’s weight suddenly against him fully, his face buried in Morrissey’s neck, breathing in deeply. 

“Just…A minute. Please," Johnny said, his voice muffled.

He shifted slightly and Morrissey felt dry lips press lightly against his skin, then Johnny shakily exhaling against his throat. Morrissey moved his fingers though the back of Johnny’s hair again, holding Johnny close to him, an intimacy sorely missed. Johnny raised an arm to brace himself against the door, leaning away from Morrissey after a while. He looked pale and incredibly unwell in the morning light coming through the windows, and Morrissey frowned, watching his partner uneasily. 

“Are you going to be sick?” Morrissey asked. 

Johnny shook his head, looking away from the singer. “That happened before I fell asleep," he said stonily. “I think I just need a shower and a lie in." Morrissey nodded, wondering where he fell into place in all of this. He helped Johnny out of his jacket and laid it on the back of his desk chair, throwing his notebook onto his desk. 

“Do you have anything I can wear when I get out?” Johnny asked, pulling off his sweater and stepping out of his shoes. He lost balance again, and Morrissey grabbed his shoulders quickly, sitting him down on the edge of his bed. Johnny grimaced at the pained look on Morrissey’s face and rubbed his eyes again. “I’m alright. It was a rough night."

Morrissey’s face remained impassive as he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, pulling out a towel for Johnny to set on the sink and returning to the bedroom several minutes later to find Johnny laying back against the mattress, stripped down to his boxers, his eyes closed. He looked defenseless, impossibly thin and fragile against the dark comforter. He opened his eyes at the sound of Morrissey’s footsteps and looked in the direction of the singer without really seeing him. 

“It should be hot now," Morrissey said gently. Johnny nodded and felt Morrissey’s arms around him again, helping him up and leading him in the direction of the bathroom. They entered the steamy room and Johnny pressed up against Morrissey again, needing the comfort of his touch, but the coarse fabric of Morrissey’s jeans and sweater rubbed uncomfortably against his bare skin. Morrissey kissed the top of Johnny’s head, unable to stop himself, then let go of him. 

“I’ll get you some clothes to change into," Morrissey said softly. 

Johnny watched him leave and then got into the shower, letting the hot water beat down on him and redden his pale skin until he couldn’t take it anymore. He dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist, feeling slightly better psychically, but mentally and emotionally drained. 

Morrissey was leaning against the doorframe with a clean pair of boxers and one of his Smiths t-shirts in hand, which he gave over to Johnny with a small smile. “Better?”

“A bit, thanks," Johnny said, clearing his throat. 

Morrissey returned to the bedroom and sat back down at his desk while Johnny got changed and brushed his teeth, reading a letter until he heard Johnny entering the room quietly. He still wobbled slightly, a side-effect of a diet consisting mostly of vodka, coffee, crisps, and chocolate.

“Think we can lie down for a while?” Johnny asked softly.

He turned down the sheets and looked at Morrissey imploringly, until Morrissey got up and took off his sweater and his pants, leaving on his undershirt and boxers as he got under the covers with Johnny, his body curling around the slighter man’s automatically. 

Johnny sighed, his face against Morrissey’s neck again, feeling comfortable and warm, breathing in Morrissey’s familiar scent. He had missed the feeling of being part of someone else’s warmth. Morrissey cradled the smaller man in his arms, his fingertips toying with the damp strands of his hair, their faces close together, eyes trained on each other. 

“I feel like I’m being pulled in a million different directions," Johnny said quietly. “And I don’t know which way to go." He traced Morrissey’s jawline delicately, with trembling fingers. It was happening all the time now. He couldn’t bear a thought to whether it would eventually affect his guitar playing. “I don’t…” Johnny trailed off, as Morrissey’s eyes considered him sharply. “The-the complications that infringe on our being together…I can’t make them go away, but I need you. I’ve realized how badly I need this," Johnny said softly. “The love I feel for you is such a big part of me. The love between us…It’s so important. To both of us…It’s so exhausting trying to pretend that it isn’t." 

“You don’t have to think about this right now," Morrissey said. 

He had frowned at the guitarists words, noting the one-sided implications. He couldn’t make the complications go away, meaning, he had to stay with Angie. She would give him the life he wanted, the life he felt he was meant for; marriage, children, family. Things that Morrissey had given up on ever attaining, on ever really thinking about. There would be no other way. Yet Johnny still clung, admitting the importance of their relationship, for now. What would happen to Morrissey in the future remained unclear, unmentioned. Nothing good would come from it, he knew, but Morrissey couldn’t find it in himself to stop. There were some situations in which you couldn’t, until it was finally over, however long or short the time spent together had been. 

“I need you to know, Morrissey. I don’t regret this, even though everything’s all fucked up right now," Johnny said earnestly, his voice still quiet. He looked away and pressed his lips against Morrissey’s chest. “And it's not your fault that this is the way things are," Johnny said softly. 

“I hate seeing you like this," Morrissey interrupted, angling Johnny’s face up towards his own. “You’re exhausted. You shouldn’t be dealing with all of this at once." 

“But I have to," Johnny pressed his lips against Morrissey’s lightly. “I can’t do without," he murmured, meeting Morrissey’s eyes. His tone was dark, eyes serious. Morrissey swallowed and Johnny looked away, pressing a kisses along Morrissey’s jawline. 

“Thank god for that. I can’t either," Morrissey breathed after a moment of regaining his composure, pushing Johnny’s hair back as Johnny began kissing his neck. He took a stuttering breath and Johnny looked up again, his eyes shining with emotion. Morrissey leaned in for another kiss, tasting his own toothpaste on Johnny’s tongue. When Johnny broke the kiss Morrissey exhaled breathily, licking his lips. It had been weeks since they had been so close. 

“I missed you," Morrissey said softly. He kissed Johnny’s neck, enjoying the soft groan Johnny emitted in response. 

“I missed you," Johnny mumbled. His eyes had closed at the feeling of Morrissey’s mouth at his neck, feeling weary and stretched too thin. Morrissey’s lips traveled lower, along his collarbone, and Johnny sighed, brushing his fingers through Morrissey’s hair slowly. 

“Mozzer, I…” Johnny trailed off, trading the end of his sentence for a gasp as Morrissey sucked at his clavicle. He wanted to be with Morrissey, but he couldn’t manage to stay up after being in the studio all night. “I want you, but I need a bit of a rest," Johnny finally said, keeping his eyes shut so he wouldn’t see the disappointment on Morrissey’s face. It had been nearly a month since they’d been alone like this last. 

“Of course," Morrissey said gently. He had to adopt the concerned tone from earlier to cover up the sting from rejection. 

“Can you stay? So we can be together when I wake up?” 

“Yes. I’ll stay," Morrissey replied. He laid back against the pillows and Johnny rested his head in the crook of his neck again, feeling safe and warm, intertwined with the singer’s body. Morrissey listened to the sound of Johnny’s breathing quickly even out, holding him until both his arms had begun feeling numb. He extracted his limbs carefully, so as to not disturb Johnny, who probably couldn’t have woken up even if Morrissey wanted to wake him. Morrissey went down to the kitchen and got breakfast, bringing it back upstairs and eating quietly in his room, seated at his desk while Johnny slept. 

A couple hours passed in which Morrissey answered letters and read for a while, occasionally looking over his shoulder to ensure that Johnny was still sleeping peacefully. He looked so small, wrapped up by himself in the big bed. Morrissey had to resist the urge to climb under the covers and pull the younger man against him, wrapping him in his arms like that could keep him safe from harm. He let him sleep instead, reasoning that it would probably be the best sleep he’d had in weeks- as Morrissey’s bedroom door was locked, and most knew better than to come knocking. Johnny never had that luxury of being able to slip away. There was always something to do, someone around him. Morrissey heard Johnny rolling over in bed and glanced over his shoulder to find Johnny watching him sleepily from underneath a mass of blankets and pillows. 

“Come here," Johnny said softly, his voice thick with sleep. 

“Do you want something to eat?” Morrissey asked, gesturing to the assortment of food he’d brought up for the guitarist.

Johnny shook his head, making a face. “Couldn’t keep anything down if I tried," he grimaced.

Morrissey frowned, getting up from the desk to sit on the edge of the bed. “Hungover?”, he asked. 

“Used to it by now," Johnny shrugged. He patted the pillow next to him. 

“Take off those pants and come over here already, you let me sleep long enough."

Morrissey smiled at the mock-plea, rubbing the back of his neck wistfully. “I was trying to give you a break from everything…And everyone…That includes myself."

“I don’t want a break from you, Moz," Johnny laughed. “That’s kind of the point."

Morrissey nodded, not saying anything. The point had never quite been entrusted to him, by anyone around him. He undid the button of his jeans and slipped them off anyway, rejoining Johnny in bed, their bodies fitting together as easily as ever. Morrissey kissed Johnny’s cheek as he settled his arms around him again, sighing quietly. He had missed the simple intimacy. The feeling of Johnny’s body aligned with his. Calloused hands brushing along his body. Gentle breath against his skin. 

Johnny moved closer, pressing his lips against Morrissey’s shoulder. He turned his head and looked up at Morrissey, great brown eyes blinking slowly, still half-asleep. Morrissey tried to swallow the lump in his throat, opening his mouth to say something before closing it again. It was better to leave it as it was, and wait for another day to poke holes into every burgeoning problem. 

“Oh, my love…” Morrissey murmured instead, kissing the top of Johnny’s head. He sighed again, an automatic response, and Johnny craned his neck to look up at him again, kissing his neck softly. He couldn’t say “it’s alright”, or “don’t worry about it”, so moved up the bed and kissed him instead.

They traded gentle, careful kisses, reacquainting their bodies. Johnny moved his hands to trace Morrissey’s jawline, not checking whether or not his hands were shaking, only wanting more and more of the man next to him. Morrissey took advantage of Johnny’s raised arms and snuck his arms around the smaller man’s torso, pulling him closer. Johnny inhaled shakily at the closeness, looking at Morrissey with wide eyes, as though this were the first time again. Morrissey kissed hungrily, trying to forget weeks of physical neglect. He was breathing heavily as he kissed Johnny’s neck, sucking harder than usual at the pale skin, causing Johnny to groan and arch against his touch. 

In the movement he pressed against Morrissey’s crotch, feeling his arousal through the thin material of his boxer shorts. His eyes flashed to Morrissey’s, and the older man raised his eyebrows in response, trailing his fingers along Johnny’s chest. He leaned in for another kiss, avoiding Johnny’s eyes. Johnny kissed back eagerly, feeling Morrissey gasp against his lips. Johnny was spurned on by the impatience of his partner. He ran his hands along Morrissey’s spine, feeling the goosebumps on his skin, his hips eagerly pressing against Johnny’s. 

Johnny spread his legs as he moved his hands over Morrissey’s arse, earning a breathy moan from Morrissey. He helped the older man change positions, angling himself closer and draping one of Morrissey’s legs over his own, further intertwining their bodies and making it so their crotches pressed together flush. Both men groaned at the contact, Johnny encouraging Morrissey to thrust against him by quickly pushing at his hips. 

“You’re so hard," Johnny commented breathlessly. He thrusted back against Morrissey, feeling significantly slower in the build up.

Morrissey’s lips were at his neck. He laughed under his breath, turning his head to look at Johnny, a little self-consciously. “Yeah. It’s been…A while," he admitted. He tensed slightly at Johnny’s hands on his hips, sliding his boxers lower. 

“It’s okay," Johnny assured him. He tried to think of the last time he’d been with Morrissey. It had to have been at least a month. It couldn’t be possible that Morrissey hadn’t came since then. There was no way. It was too long, with too much stress in-between. He moaned at the feeling of Morrissey’s hands gripping his ass, getting harder at the sound of his soft gasps and groans. He kissed Morrissey again, the older man reacting quickly and eagerly, sucking at his bottom lip.

It probably had been a month, Johnny decided, feeling Morrissey thrust solidly against him again. He frowned slightly and ran his fingers along Morrissey’s body, stopping at his hips. Morrissey looked at him quickly, mentally urging Johnny to go further. His heart was pounding in his chest. He was afraid Johnny would want to stop, that he wouldn’t have another chance to be with him. 

“Moz, I…” Johnny started, breaking off to meet Morrissey’s desperate gaze. “I want you to take me."

Morrissey nodded obediently, kissing Johnny on the lips again. He felt Johnny pulling him on top and moved positions, holding his weight above the younger man cautiously. Johnny moved his hands over Morrissey’s arse slowly, coming over his hips, pulling at the waistband of his boxers. He could see that Morrissey was completely hard, and he bit his lip as he slowly eased the boxers off. 

“Do you want anything?” Morrissey asked in a low voice, kissing Johnny’s neck. 

“To see you cum, mostly," Johnny replied, his hand at the base of Morrissey’s cock. He ran his hand along his length, and Morrissey’s eyes closed, a low groan issuing from his mouth. Johnny rubbed his thumb over the head of his cock, making Morrissey moan shakily, his eyes meeting Johnny’s. He went to stroke him again and Morrissey grabbed his wrist, his eyes flashing a warning. 

“Think we’ll skip the foreplay for you," Johnny laughed quietly. 

Morrissey smiled into the next kiss then got up off the younger man, taking off his boxers and going into his suitcase to take out some lube. Johnny took off his clothes while he watched Morrissey peel off the plastic on the new bottle, then set it on the nightstand. 

“Is that the bottle I gave you last month?” Johnny asked incredulously. He looked up at Morrissey with his eyebrows raised, wondering what exactly the singer had been doing in their time apart. Morrissey chose not to answer, throwing the plastic into the rubbish bin. 

“Shall we move on, then?” Morrissey asked, the terse tone returning. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking somewhere above Johnny’s head. 

“Yes," Johnny replied, running his hand along Morrissey’s back. “Come over here," He said softly, trying to keep his face impassive while he felt the lump in his throat returning at the thought of the misery he had brought to the person he loved. There was nothing he could do, he tried to remind himself. But it wasn’t necessarily true, of course. He couldn’t take that kind of a leap, that’s what he told himself. Johnny gasped, his eyes fluttering shut as Morrissey’s mouth moved down his body, his lips pressing against his cock before he parted them and took him in. 

“Oh, Moz," Johnny moaned. Morrissey made a noise of encouragement in response, groaning around Johnny’s cock. “Fuck," Johnny gasped, threading his fingers in Morrissey’s hair. Morrissey slowed, moving to suck on the head of Johnny’s cock, his tongue moving slowly against the sensitive area. He had missed the totally attentive devotion of the older man, how seriously he focused on giving Johnny exactly what he wanted, understanding the slighter man’s body completely. 

Johnny groaned as Morrissey moved away from him, using his hand to stroke him instead, slow and measured movements, looking up at Johnny with his mouth open as the guitarist panted and moaned. When Johnny noticed Morrissey’s staring he grabbed onto the singer and pulled him close, crushing their mouths together. He kissed hard, not letting Morrissey pull away until they were both breathless. 

“I’ve really been missing this," Johnny said huskily.

Morrissey took him into his mouth again, slower this time, building up the younger man- listening for the telltale gasps and body movements that would signal that Johnny was getting too close. When he heard Johnny moan and then curse under his breath, turning his head away, Morrissey felt as though it was time to move on. His cock twitched in anticipation. 

“God, don’t stop," Johnny groaned as Morrissey moved away. 

“Just a bit of patience, love," Morrissey murmured, reaching for the lube.

Johnny smiled at the ceiling, in a haze of arousal, his face completely numb. “Be quick," Johnny pleaded. Morrissey nodded, coating his fingers and pressing a kiss to Johnny’s hip as he leaned back in again. He made short work of preparing Johnny for sex, knowing that the younger man hated to wait, and that he could hardly wait any longer himself. Johnny moaned throughout, moving impatiently against Morrissey, his eager groans catching in his throat. In response to Johnny’s noises of encouragement, Morrissey decided to take it a step further, sucking Johnny’s cock as he curled his fingers inside the guitarist, eliciting the loudest moan he’d heard from Johnny in quite some time. 

“I want you right now," Johnny said firmly, his hands gripping the sheets as he caught his breath after Morrissey had made him writhe on the bed underneath him with the dual simulation. “Now," Johnny reiterated, laughing. Morrissey moved quickly to add more lube and coat it on himself this time, a soft moan escaping him as he allowed himself to stroke his cock. 

“Morrissey, please," Johnny gasped, watching the singer hungrily. 

Morrissey took a stuttering breath and they both changed positions accordingly, Johnny guiding his cock as Morrissey slowly thrusted into him, both men gasping. Morrissey thrusted slowly, his eyes closing on their own accord as Johnny pulled him closer, moaning desperately underneath him.

“More, baby," Johnny said in a low voice, noting Morrissey’s shaking shoulders as he tried to be slow and careful. “I’m ready for you," he assured his partner. He kissed Morrissey, and Morrissey groaned against his lips, starting to thrust harder. 

Morrissey straightened up when they broke apart, gripping Johnny’s hips as the slighter man wrapped his legs around him. “Oh, god," Morrissey moaned, the headboard bouncing off the wall in their hunger. 

Johnny used his hand on himself watching his own pleasure mirrored on Morrissey’s face, emotion and hormones flooding through his body as his muscles began to tighten with the need for release. He listened to Morrissey’s moans and breathy pants mixed in with his own, licking his lips and gasping as Morrissey grasped the headboard with one hand, thrusting harder, gripping Johnny’s hip tightly with the other. 

“Ooooh, fuck," Morrissey moaned, reaching the brink of orgasm feeling Johnny’s body start to shudder underneath him. 

“Oh, oh, I’m gonna cum," Johnny groaned, his free hand gripping Morrissey’s arm as the singer thrusted harder for a moment, hitting Johnny’s prostate and making the younger man moan louder, his breath coming in harshly as he slowed the movements of his hand, groaning as he came all over his stomach and chest.

Morrissey stopped thrusting, pulling out and using his hand on himself while he listened to Johnny’s moans, feeling the aftershock tremors rolling through the guitarist’s body.

“Oh, Moz," Johnny gasped. 

The look of absolute love and devotion in Johnny’s eyes as he opened his them in the aftershocks sent a tremor through Morrissey’s body, and he swore as he started to cum, gasping and shooting thick ropes of cum over Johnny’s stomach, the release hitting him so hard that he couldn’t stop himself from moaning loudly, his whole body shaking as he finished. 

“Fuck," Johnny laughed when Morrissey was done, looking down at his body.

Morrissey’s hands were shaking as he handed Johnny his t-shirt to clean up the mess they’d made, collapsing by his side onto the mattress. “Oh, my," Morrissey sighed, trying to catch his breath. "I'm sorry, baby," he said as Johnny cleaned himself up. 

“That was really fucking good," Johnny said. “I need another shower, but that was really, really fucking good." He leaned in and kissed Morrissey, smiling again. “The way that you wanted it so badly just about killed me. I can never last when you get like that. It’s incredibly sexy."

"It's you," Morrissey admitted. "You just bring something out in me." 

"No, you're just unbearably attractive," Johnny told him. "An international sex symbol, not doubt about it." Johnny kissed him again, getting up from the bed to shower off again. 

Morrissey followed him into the bathroom to clean himself up too, smiling smugly from Johnny’s compliments. He may not have been able to keep him forever, but for now would do sometimes too.


End file.
